


The Silver Lining Still Remains

by galactic_roses



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29597478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactic_roses/pseuds/galactic_roses
Summary: This fic is what I like to imagine happens immediately after the Blood and Wine main questline...All the thanks to my fantastic beta-reader Purrito!!!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 57
Collections: Regis Rocks





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Recently played through Blood and Wine again and I just really wanted to give Geralt and Regis a good, happy ending<3
> 
> Title belongs to The Beginning by The Dear Hunter
> 
> "The silver lining still remains,  
>  The sights I've left to see  
>  So trust that with this end,  
>  A new beginning's waiting patiently."

It is a most unusual sensation for him, this feeling of complete safety. He is so used to being constantly in danger that it is almost unnerving to be sitting here, calmly sipping out of the wooden tankard that fits so perfectly in his hand. The strangeness of it washes through him in languid waves. 

The man across from him sighs, and drinks from his own tankard. Looking at him, Geralt feels a soft warmth spread from underneath his ribs. A breeze rustles his hair, carrying the faint scent of herbs to his sensitive nose, and he inhales, savoring the aroma.

Scent has always been important to him. It is one of the key senses that witchers rely on for their work and survival. For him, it often becomes a very personal thing.

Lilac and gooseberries, he thinks, and lets out a gusty sigh. That is a past chapter in his life. Both parties involved in that disaster have made it extremely clear that anything that might once have existed between them is gone. While it had lasted, he had been infatuated, nearly obsessed. The scent of lilac and gooseberries had haunted him night and day, while he hunted and dreamed. Now, it seems like the faintest memory.

Everything that has been hounding him for the past decades, including Yennefer, seems to be finally off his heels. The Wild Hunt has been thoroughly broken and chased into obscurity. His adopted daughter Ciri is now free to practice as a fully grown witcher, and she roams on the path just as Geralt has done for so long. The School of the Wolf has been shattered by Vesimir’s death, leaving his brothers to travel their own paths, though he knows Eskel still winters in Kaer Morhen, often accompanied by Letho of Gulet.

As for politics, Radovid is dead, Emhyr has been overthrown, and Geralt can only hope that things will continue to improve.

He breathes in again, inhaling the scent of herbs once more, letting it soothe away the thoughts of his past, and a faint smile touches his lips. The warmth under his ribs continues to spread. 

“Are you alright, my friend?” the man across from him asks, voice soft. Geralt looks up, and meets his gaze, watching for a moment as the firelight reflects in his dark eyes.

“Mm, just reminiscing,” he replies. Regis raises an eyebrow, but Geralt doesn’t elaborate. The witcher drinks from his tankard, then leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees.

He thinks about his feeling of peace again, finding some amusement in it as he considers his present company. The man sitting before him is no ordinary one. Geralt finds his eyes drawn to the place where Regis sits, still carefully sipping from his tankard and watching a nearby moth with vague interest. No dark shadow spills across the ground from the place where his feet touch the dirt. Sometimes the witcher wonders how no one ever notices the man’s lack of a shadow, though it seems that no one notices anything anymore.

Still lost in his thoughts, he remembers the sharp-toothed smile Regis hides so well, the one he has been lucky enough to see many times. The smile was proof enough that the man really does trust him wholeheartedly. Butterflies tickle his stomach, making him wince.

He glances up again and finds Regis watching him carefully.

“Regis,” Geralt begins, then pauses, unsure of what to say. He fiddles with the mug in his hands, nearly forgetting that it still holds liquid, and some of it sloshes over his fingers. Trying not to show the embarrassment that rises in his throat from the clumsy gesture, he downs the rest of the drink, hoping the action will give him a moment to compose himself. 

“Thanks for all your help with that Beast shit,” he says, surfacing from his tankard with a straight face. “Dunno if I would’ve made it out alive without you.”

“I am simply pleased to be able to assist you,” Regis replies. He smiles, showing his teeth in the display of trust that makes Geralt feel tingly all over. “Though I do suspect that without me, you might’ve made it out of the ordeal a little worse for wear.”

Geralt chuckles, and toasts with his empty mug. 

After a few moments of silence, Geralt clears his throat.

“So, what’ll you do next?” he asks. “Got a plan?” 

Curiosity has prompted him to ask, though he almost dreads the answer.

“I do. I must find Detlaff,” Regis says simply, and a small weight drops into the pit of Geralt’s stomach. “Help him,” the vampire continues. “I certainly owe him that much.” 

“Vampire friendships,” Geralt says, feeling a twist in his gut, “clear rules. Must be nice.” 

“Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?” Regis asks. His eyes twinkle in the firelight.

“No,” Geralt replies. “Not at all.” 

The witcher feels his mouth twist into a slight grimace. Human friendships, human feelings, are always complicated. He feels like a perfect example, free as a bird, yet suddenly weighed down by feelings that he can’t quite put to words.

Looking up, he catches Regis watching him once again.

“I can’t help but feel as if there’s something you’re not telling me,” Regis says, his eyes trained on the witcher with hawk-like intensity. Geralt, finding his hands suddenly empty, rubs his palms over the leather that covers his knees. 

“What could I have to say,” he finally says, trying and failing to sound convincing. 

“Oh come now, old friend,” Regis prompts with a wry smile. “I can practically smell it on you.”

Shaking his head, Geralt feels the warmth in his stomach twinge slightly. 

“I…” he starts, then he hesitates, meeting Regis’ dark eyes. “I’m… I appreciate you,” he finishes lamely. Regis raises his eyebrows.

“I appreciate you too, Geralt. Your friendship means quite a lot to me.”

The words both elate him and make him cringe inwardly, as if struck by an invisible fist.

“Thanks,” he manages, then picks up his abandoned tankard. “I don’t suppose you have more wine? I could use it.”

When Geralt finally stands, ready to head out for the night, the ground sways beneath his feet. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, “the ride home will be fun.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it,” Regis remarks. “I have faith in Roach’s ability to navigate the roads back to Corvo Bianco.” 

Geralt lets out a scratchy chuckle, then nearly stumbles over a rock hidden in the grass, and in the time it takes him to blink, Regis appears next to him, a hand under his elbow.

“Careful,” the vampire murmurs. “We wouldn’t want you to break anything right after coming out of your contract with only a few cuts and bruises.”

The sudden closeness of him sets off several alarms in Geralt’s brain, and only one of them is from his witcher senses telling him something is wrong.

“That wine complements you quite nicely,” Regis comments, releasing his elbow. 

“Uh, thanks?” Geralt mumbles, the man’s proximity making his head spin.

“Don’t mention it.” 

They stand together for a long moment. 

“Well, I guess this is farewell for now,” Geralt says. He tries his best to keep any trace of pain from the words, and hopes desperately that he is succeeding.

“I suppose it is.”

Turning, they embrace, and Geralt feels his heart thump slowly again the other man’s chest. Part of him wants nothing more than to hold onto this man, this source of warmth inside him, scared beyond reason that he will disappear as soon as he lets go. A long moment later, they draw back. Geralt grips Regis’ forearm and stares into his honest, trusting eyes, trying desperately to communicate what he can’t seem to say. 

“Farewell, my friend,” Regis says, returning his grasp. Geralt nods, feeling numb, and watches as the man steps back, his body seeming to crumble as it turns into reddish fog. The fog circles Geralt once, then flies off into the woods, leaving the witcher to stare blankly out into the distance, feeling as though a piece of himself is now missing. 

Geralt returns to Corvo Bianco, drops into his enormous bed, and falls asleep instantly. 

In the weeks that follow, Geralt doesn’t do much. Aside from a few easy contracts, he mostly wanders around the vineyard, sipping wine and discussing business prospects with his majordomo. There is a certain feeling of limbo about it, where time both flies and drags its toes like a reluctant, petulant child. Geralt doesn’t really mind. For once, he feels no need to be busy. He takes on the occasional contract, but mostly he just skims the nearby notice boards every few days without finding much of interest. Once in a while he hears his staff discussing missing villagers or rumors of nearby monsters, which he sometimes investigates, but sometimes he doesn’t. He spends most of his time wandering lazily around the estate, keeping to himself and enjoying the peace. It is nice to be able to exist inside the bubble that is Corvo Bianco.

After a while, though, Geralt begins to feel as if something is missing. He finds himself turning his head expectantly at the sound of footsteps, only to feel disappointed when they belong to one of his staff or his majordomo. His final interaction with Regis keeps playing over and over in his head, playing out in different ways every time, but none that makes him feel any better. He begins to mope, unable to keep from feeling sullen, even when his estate begins to produce a successful grape crop. Instead of celebrating with his staff, he chooses to spend time alone. Many a bottle of wine disappears with him onto the balcony of the main house, then reappears, empty, on his bedside table.

It is on one of these lonely nights, where Geralt has drunk entirely too much red wine and is lying face down on his mattress, that there comes a knock on his bedroom door. 

“Sir, you have a guest,” his majordomo calls through the wooden planks. “Shall I let him inside?”

“What does he look like?” Geralt says, not bothering to lift his head from the sheets.

“He appears to be a very distinguished-looking gentleman, sir, with salt and pepper hair. He is also currently standing outside getting wet.” The majordomo pauses. “It is pouring outside, sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt lets out a low moan, then pushes himself up and off the bed. Not bothering to dress properly, he stumbles to the front door and pulls it open.

The so-called, ‘distinguished gentleman,’ is Regis, who is indeed soaking wet. At the sight of him, Geralt’s stomach does a lurch, then a flop, then a flutter. His mouth is suddenly extremely dry, and his heart begins to thud loudly in his ears.

“Hello, Geralt,” Regis says, smiling slightly. “May I come in?”

“Uh, of course,” Geralt mumbles. He steps out of the way, allowing the other man to move inside. “Not to sound unwelcoming but uh, what are you doing here?”

“Do not worry, Geralt, your confusion is understandable. I hardly sent warning before my arrival.” 

It is strange to see the higher vampire standing in the dimly lit main hall of his house, Geralt thinks. His brain is muddled with lethargy and wine, and he can’t quite figure out what he wants to do about the situation.

“Maybe we should sit?” Regis says, brushing water droplets off his arms. “I’d like to speak to you about something.” 

“Ever mysterious,” Geralt mutters. He rubs a hand over his eyes, which have begun to burn with exhaustion. His stomach flip-flops again. “Let’s go talk in my room,” he says. 

“Alright,” Regis replies. He glances at the majordomo, who promptly bows and moves into the other room, then he follows Geralt into the bedroom. The door closes behind them with a soft thump. The witcher drops onto the bed, a strange cocktail of emotions swirling inside him, and looks down at his hands.

“What happened with Dettlaff?” he asks his palms. He hopes this question will lead them down the least embarrassing path of conversation, but something tells him he hopes in vain. The sound of a chair scraping against the wooden floor nearby makes him wince, and draws him back to the present.

“I helped him,” Regis says. “Or at least, I believe that I managed to help him. He is very self-sufficient, usually. However, after the, hm, emotional ordeal he went through, I thought he might require some help of the friendship variety.” He sighs. “I firmly believe that the right companionship can be a healing balm during times of emotional turmoil.”

“Makes sense,” Geralt mumbles. He sucks in a breath and lets it whoosh out. “He’s stable now, then?” 

“More or less, but that’s not why I came back.”

Geralt can feel the vampire’s eyes on him. His skin tingles. He lifts his head, and meets Regis’ gaze.

“Why, then?”

The expression on Regis’ face is… odd. His mouth twists slightly, and his forehead wrinkles. 

“I had a feeling that you wanted to tell me something, something important, when we parted,” he says softly. “And you didn’t. Something about the look in your eyes, I… It’s been on my mind.”

Upon hearing those words, Geralt feels as if his stomach has suddenly decided to vacate his body, leaving an empty pit where it should have been. Nerves bite into him in a way they rarely ever do. He can hardly escape this situation, as Regis has cornered him as neatly as a cat corners a mouse.

“Uh,” he mumbles.

“Geralt,” Regis says, then stops, and sighs. “…I do not want to push you if you are not willing to tell me, but it seems as if something is troubling you. Perhaps it would lighten your spirit to speak about it?” 

The throbbing in Geralt’s temples increases.

“My head is killing me,” he grits out, reaching up to rub his eyes again. A flurry of movement from Regis makes him look up, and he sees the vampire standing beside him, offering him a large, beaten flask. He grimaces.

“No more booze,” he says.

“Oh come now, Geralt, I could smell the wine on you from a mile away. I know better than to give you more alcohol.”

Reluctantly, the witcher takes the flask and opens it, sniffing the contents before taking a gulp. It is clean water, and it lessens the ache behind his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says, returning the flask to Regis. The man accepts and stowes it in his bag, then turns back to Geralt, concern showing plain in his eyes. 

“Better?” he asks.

“Yeah, a little.”

After a moment, Regis moves forward and sits down next to Geralt on the bed, the covers letting out a quiet puff of air as he settles. The witcher starts slightly when Regis places a hand carefully on his forearm. 

“You know I am always here to listen,” he says. It takes Geralt a moment to swallow the lump in his throat.

“I… thank you,” he finally replies. “I really appreciate that, and… you.” He draws a deep breath. 

“At the campfire, last time we saw each other, I was thinking about how I- how peaceful I felt there, how safe. I know it’s a little ironic,” he says in response to Regis’ soft chuckle. “But it’s true. I just…” 

Geralt grasps for words, feeling like a drowning man grasping at sea foam.

“I don’t feel safe much,” he finally manages. “It’s not part of being a witcher, but… I’m comfortable in your company. Happy.”

The hand on his forearm tightens. 

“Oddly enough, I feel much the same,” Regis says quietly. “Most vampires can only feel safe with their own kind. I am lucky to be friends with a witcher as unique as you.”

Geralt mumbles something intelligible and looks down into his palms, embarrassed by the knowledge that Regis can hear the sound of his heartbeat thumping erratically in his chest. Heat rises to his cheeks, and he can feel Regis watching him, then his heart nearly stops when Regis’ hand slides cautiously into his.

“Geralt, I can’t help but hear your blood pound when I am this close to you. I might be wrong about what that means, but…” 

Cool fingers touch Geralt’s cheek, urging him to turn to the side, and suddenly Regis’s face is close, very close. For a heartbeat’s time, he can feel Regis’ breath on his skin, then a moment later, the man’s lips press against his, soft and beautifully cool. 

Regis pulls back hastily, looking worried.

“Was I wrong? I didn’t—”

Shaking his head and letting his instincts take over, Geralt tugs him close once more and kisses him fiercely on the mouth.

“Regis, I think… I might love you,” he whispers shyly when their lips part. “I… hope that’s alright.”

“My dear Geralt,” Regis says, “that is very alright, especially since I do believe that I feel quite the same toward you.”

Something inside Geralt unravels; he slides an arm around Regis’ waist, pulling him closer, and kisses him again. The vampire’s mouth is even more intoxicating than his mandrake hooch, and Geralt slowly finds himself getting lost. 

“Sorry,” he says, pulling back to look into Regis’ face. What appears to be a faint pink blush has spread across the man’s face. 

“No need to apologize,” Regis replies. He reaches up, and runs careful fingers over the lines around Geralt’s eyes. “…You look like you need sleep.”

“I really do.”

Geralt sighs. He squeezes Regis’ hand, then lets go. 

“Regis, can we talk properly tomorrow? I dunno if I can string two words together and make sense.”

“Yes, we will talk tomorrow. Is it alright if I stay here?”

“In the bed?” Geralt coughs. 

“I’ll sit there,” Regis says with a smile, and stands, indicating the desk chair. 

“Oh, makes sense.” 

Flopping back, Geralt sighs again, and closes his eyes. Warmth bathes his body, inside and out.

The next morning finds the pair sitting at the long table in the main hall. Geralt digs into a chicken leg while Regis sips from a glass of water. 

“Don’t worry about that,” Geralt mutters through his chicken, gesturing at the plate of food that Marlene has so thoughtfully put in front of the other man. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Regis says. He eats a grape. “I don’t mind.”

“So, what now?” Geralt asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Uh, what are your plans? What are you gonna do?” 

“Well,” Regis says, and picks up another piece of fruit, “I would like to spend a little time here, with you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Geralt nearly chokes.

“I will need to return to Dettlaff for a few days, though,” the man continues. “To settle a few things, but then I can do whatever I please.”

“O-okay,” Geralt manages. He swallows hard, unable to keep his eyes from sliding nervously away from his companion. “I would— would like… to spend some time with you, too.”

“That’s settled then,” Regis says cheerfully, and suddenly he is on his feet. In less than a second he appears beside Geralt, and he reaches down, his fingers soft on Geralt’s cheek. 

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he murmurs, and kisses Geralt quickly, and then he is gone.

A few days later, Geralt sits on his balcony, sipping wine from one of his majordomo’s nice glasses. He blinks in the light from the setting sun.

“I really should appreciate this view more often,” he says to himself, and grins.

“The best view is a shared one,” a voice replies from the empty air, startling Geralt, and Regis materializes in front of him, smiling his sweet, sharp-toothed smile. He bends, and taking Geralt’s face in his hands, kisses him thoroughly. 

“Mm, Erveluce,” he remarks when he draws back. “I do hope you won’t mind sharing.” 

“Absolutely. Pull up a chair.”

Regis does just that. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” Geralt says, warmth spreading from under his ribs once again as he smiles at the other man. 

“Me too.”

The witcher sighs in contentment.

“I feel safe. It’s so strange.”

Chuckling, Regis places a hand on Geralt’s arm.

“If you are looking for some danger, perhaps you should seek more witcher’s work soon.”

“Perhaps. But not yet. I’m enjoying the feeling, at least for now.”

The witcher takes the hand on his arm, twining his finger with Regis’, and squeezes. They sit peacefully together, drinking wine, and watch the sun disappear over the horizon.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you did, Please leave me kudos/comments<3


End file.
